


Ravager Family Rambles

by LoveisYonduBlue



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Multi, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: A collection of one-shots (and maybe sometimes two-shots or three-shots), depicting little stories in my "Vital" Universe that don't have a place within the body of "Loyalty" or the "Vital" series. May also draw on the "Yondu Week" prompts. All chapters are SFW, besides possible violence.





	1. Hands (Yondu & Quill)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was done for my friend Giulscomix, who was having a bad day and requested an origin for the face-holding gesture Yondu does at the end of GotG Vol. 2. :)

There's too many. Even the arrow can't take them all. Even with him, Kraglin and ten crew members, they can't take them all. 

"Flark this!" Yondu screams above the sound of fists and blaster shot. "Git out! Git the hell out!"

With a frenzy of fresh attacks, his team batters back the current wave of Vakauza and turn tail. 

Yondu snags Peter's collar; the boy had been doing his best to keep out of the way after they'd been ambushed, taking cover between him and Kraglin, but he hadn't fired a shot. Yondu can see the terror plain as day in his eyes. He's still young - not even twelve yet in Terran years. Hell, Kraglin's only just turned twenty. He’s never been a fire fight like this. He pushes the boy behind the ruins of an old building. "Run, Quill! Run fer the ship!"

Yondu doesn't need to ask him twice; the boy races ahead, and the Captain swipes his fingers across his wristcom to deactivate the cloaking on the  _Warbird_. The M-ship shimmers into view, and one by one, the  _Cawl_  and the  _Islynn_  do too. Horuz reaches the  _Islynn_ , firing shots as Kraglin takes off in the  _Cawl_. 

Yondu chances a look back - and takes a blaster shot straight in the shoulder.

He reels and falls. As he does, he hears a sharp _snap_ as his full bodyweight falls just right on his holster, cracking his Yaka arrow. _"Shit!"_ The Captain struggles to roll over, stuffing the broken arrow in his duster pocket. He's almost to his knees at least when he hears a noise behind him, and whirls, feet stumbling on the upturned pieces of broken street. A Vakauza member stands there, aiming his blaster. With a well-practiced, quick motion, Yondu flicks the knife out of the strap at his wrist and flings it towards his enemy. Unfortunately, the Vakauza sees it just in time and raises his arm – the blade bounces off some sort of small energy shield and clatters harmlessly to the ground.

Yondu scrambles backwards, hands searching behind him for discarded blaster, a knife, hell a hefty  _rock_  would be okay - anything to use to defend himself – but he finds nothing.

"It'll be a pleasure putting you down, old man," the Vakauza cackles, and raises his blaster, aiming it right between Yondu's eyes.

 _So this is it_ , Yondu realizes.  _Survived twenty years as a battle slave, twelve years as a Ravager and_ this _is how I go. Shot down by some Vakauza punk barely old enough to grow a beard._ He swallows. _At least Kraglin and Quill got out._

The shot is fired, and Yondu flinches instinctually - but after looking himself over, realizes he wasn't hit. His head snaps back up to the Vakauza and sees there's a hole in his chest, seeping blood through his shirt. He staggers, stumbles, and tries to gurgle out some last words before gravity takes its toll and he falls backwards into the rubble. Yondu turns to look behind him, and his eyes widen. _"Quill?"_

The boy’s eyes are wide, his face pale, his mouth agape. A blaster is clenched tight in his trembling hands, the barrel still glowing slightly. He stares past Yondu at the Vakauza’s dead body, then at the gun in his hands - and drops the weapon like it’s going to bite. He takes one more look at it, horrified, like he expects it to come alive off the ground and coil around his leg, before scrambling down to Yondu.

"Y-Yondu, c'mon! C’mon!" They reach the  _Warbird_  and Yondu takes immediate action, cloaking the ship and leaving ground before his wounds get the better of him and he has to tend them. Thank gods Quill has been flying for almost a couple years now in the  _Milano_  and knows how to operate as co-pilot. Peter takes over once they're clear, and after making contact with the  _Cawl_  and the  _Islynn_ , sets the Warbird on automatic pilot back to the Eclector.

Yondu growls as he stuffs a thick pad of gauze into the gaping wound of his shoulder, strapping it tight with a bandage. "Quill!" he barks. He cleans off his hands and checks his fingers and toes, making sure nothing is severed or broken, and quickly stitches up a deep cut across his leg, seating himself on the cot reserved for the injured. "Quill!" he shouts again, looking up. "Where the- oh."

Peter is standing before him, but he approached so quietly that he didn't even realize it. "Shit, boy. C'mere, ya hurt?" Peter doesn't respond; his eyes seem distant, his face still pale. Yondu reaches over with his good arm, and burying his fingers in the boy's jacket, yanks him close. "I said, are ya _hurt?!"_

Peter's eyes come abruptly into focus - and well with tears. Suddenly the boy is sobbing before him, and between gasping breaths is crying out, "I'm sorry," and "I didn't mean to."

"Whoa, whoa!" Yondu says, willing his voice down a decibel, "Sorry fer what? Didn't mean to do what?"

"K-ki-kill him! I didn't mean to, I’m sorry!" the boy crumples to the ground, unable to hold himself up.

"Quill, Quill!" Yondu catches him, grimacing as the action pulls at his injured shoulder, and hauls him back to his feet. "I know ya didn’t want to do that, but-”

“Wh-what would my Mom think?” comes the horrified, sobbing interruption. “She’d think I was a murderer!”

Yondu’s throat tightens. If he knows anything, it’s what a high opinion Quill has of his mother’s memory, and how much he still loves her. Her impression, even if she’s not there to give it, means the galaxy to this boy.

"Quill. Hey! Lookit me, son. Lookit me." After only a split-second of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hands on either side of Quill's face.

Stakar used to do the same thing sometimes, cradle Yondu’s face like this, back when he was new to the crew and his battle slave instincts took over in a dangerous situation. He always felt panicked, lost when that instinct took control, but for some reason having Stakar in such close proximity always calmed him right down. Something about the familiar and home-like smell of his leather gloves blocking out scents of blood, and Stakar’s warm dark eyes bringing him focus and radiating comfort.

The memory washes over him, bittersweet, and he tries to ignore the sudden sting in his heart. He just hopes he can convey the same emotions, and that it will help Quill. “Breathe, son. Breathe.”

Peter places his smaller hands over his, gripping his wrists. To Yondu’s relief, he can sense that he is not grabbing him to make him let go, but rather to keep his hands in place. The boy’s eyes close, hot tears still streaking paths down his dirty cheeks, but he breathes in deeply, and his trembling stops almost immediately.

“Good, boy. Breathe. Tha’s it. It’s okay, son.”

After several minutes, after Peter has calmed down enough to the point that he opens his eyes and the tears have stopped, Yondu draws him a step closer, keeping his hands on his face. "Now,” the Captain says, as gently as he can, “I didn’t have the good fortune to meet yer Momma, but I know fer a fact that she would not think yer a murderer.” He says the words firmly, looking straight into Quill’s eyes. "Ya know what she would think? That yer a hero. Ya saved my life, Quill. Do you realize that? That Vakauza was gonna kill me. And probably you too, if he found ya. Ya saved me, son. No one would ever say you was a murderer here. Ya saved my life." He pats Peter’s face lightly with one hand, then draws the boy against himself. Peter buries his head against his good shoulder, squeezing him tightly. "Do ya understand what I'm sayin', Quill?"

Peter sniffles and nods, not bothering to lift his head.

Yondu leans his cheek lightly against the boy’s hair, cupping the back of his head in one large hand. “Ya did good today, son. Yer not a murderer, ya jus’ did what had to be done to help me, and to survive. It ain’t pretty, and I’m sorry it had to happen that way. But yer not a murderer, Quill. I reckon yer Momma would be proud a’ ya, stickin’ yer neck out like that to save someone else.”

Peter backs up from him then, running a hand over his eyes and nose. “You think so?” he whispers.

Yondu nods. “I do.” He settles back against the ship’s hull, scooting back on the narrow cot. He pats the spot next to him, and Quill slumps into it. Yond leans his head back and closes his eyes. After a moment, he says, “Boy.”

Peter, who has leaned back too, turns his head slightly. “Yondu?”

“Ya might’a got killed yerself today,” the Captain growls. “If ya pull a stunt like that again, I’mma eat ya.”

There’s a noise from Quill that might be a sniffle or a laugh; he can’t tell.

“Yes, sir.”


	2. Thanks, Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has always longed for bonding time with his dad. Yondu’s going to have to be the next best thing. Father/son bonding time between Yondu and Peter at an amusement park (plus a little brother time with Kraglin too!) Requested by Giulscomix when I opened requests for a few days on Tumblr.

Yondu wakes with a groan and tiredly rubs a hand over his eyes. _Dammit._ He pulls on his clothes and duster, secures his arrow in its holster and marches out of his cabin. He heads for the First Mate’s quarters. Kraglin most likely isn’t there; the young lieutenant doesn’t sleep much and is, without fault, always awake before his Captain.

No, it’s _Quill_ that Yondu is after this morning; the boy shares the First Mate’s cabin.

He’d promised Peter that he’d take him to Lalluna – a well-known and highly regarded amusement park – if the boy successfully performed ten missions. Wouldn’t you know the kid completed fifteen – _just in case,_ he’d said _-_ and even though Yondu’s word doesn’t mean squat under normal conditions, he’d feel pretty shitty not following through.

Besides, he’s growing a little fond of the kid. At least when he’s not screaming or crying about his Terra or a busted Walk-Thing.

Not that he’d ever admit to having _sentiment._

Yondu pauses before the door and gives a little sigh. He’s already getting a headache, and he hasn’t even gone on any rides or been stuck in noisy crowds yet. He punches his override code into the door lock, and it slides open, scraping on its track. _“Quill!”_ he barks, and there’s a yelp and a _fwump_.

Yondu flicks on the light, and is greeted by the messy-haired, sleepy-eyed form of twelve-year-old Quill, tangled up in his sheets on the floor. “What’d I do?” he asks, disentangling an arm from the sheet to rub an eye.

“Nothin’. We’re goin’ to Lalluna. Git up an’ dressed, or I’m leavin’ yer ass behind.”

He gasps excitedly, eyes sparkling as he gapes up at Yondu. _“Really?!”_

“Meet me in the Hangar in ten minutes! I’m not waitin’ fer ya!” Yondu orders, and departs.

“Okay!” Grinning, Peter runs around the room grabbing clothes, hopping up and down to get socks on. He half expected Yondu to back out on his promise, but Peter’s been _very_ good lately, and he’s been wanting to go to this amusement park for almost a whole year. He digs around in his backpack for his polaroid camera, which has been hooked up with a strap to go around his neck – and something flutters out of the interior.

Peter gingerly picks it up. It’s a clipping out of the TV Guide – a picture of David Hasselhoff from Knight Rider, who he always told the kids back home was his dad. His smile falters for a moment. All he ever wanted was a Dad to be there to pick him up from school, take him to baseball games, go camping with him.

He often dreamed of playing a game of catch in the back yard; he can almost smell the grass stains and leather of the baseball mitt just thinking about it. He always had hoped his Dad would come home and be the one to take him and Mom to amusement park, too. Maybe Disney World. Carefully, he replaces it in a pocket of his backpack, and pulls out the polaroid camera.

 _Well,_ he thinks, his smile returning, _I bet Lalluna is better than any Disney World! Weird alien roller coasters and rides, games and prizes, all the best junk food - and all day to just have fun! No crawling in vents, or cleaning my room, or going on missions!_

All sad memories pushed aside for the moment, he races to the Hangar at top speed, weaving around Ravagers and clambering up and down stairwells. At last, breathless, he comes to a panting stop in front of Yondu and Kraglin, who are waiting next to the _Cawl,_ Kraglin’s ship.

Yondu glances at his wrist com. “Even with a couple minutes t’spare, Quill. Too bad y’ain’t this fast when I _really_ need ya fer somethin’.”

Peter chooses to ignore the comment and turns to Kraglin. “Are you coming too?”

The First Mate nods. “Cap’n doesn’t wanna be lookin’ after ya the whole time.” He winks.

Peter just grins in response. “It’s gonna be awesome, Krags!” He holds out his hand, and Kraglin slaps it in a high-five. Peter taught him that.

“A’ight,” Yondu says, rolling his eyes, “Git on board, before I change my mind.”

* * *

With Kraglin piloting, the trip to Lalluna is a short one. A half hour and a few jumps later from the _Eclector’s_ current position, they’re approaching their destination.

Quill peers over Kraglin’s shoulder, “Is that it?” he asks excitedly as they near a small, blue moon.

“Yep,” the First Mate replies.

Yondu turns in his seat to look at Quill and points a finger at him warningly. “Ya lissen to me now, and ya lissen sharp, boy.”

Peter stops bouncing in his seat and focuses very seriously on Yondu’s face.

“This is a busy place, and there’s lots a people ‘round. Ya don’t go anywhere without me or Kraglin, ya hear? No runnin’ off, no eatin’ weird foods ya don’t know are safe, and no whinin’ when it’s time to go. And no pukin’! Ya puke once and we’re leavin’! Got that?”

“Got it!” Peter grins.

“A’ight.” Yondu turns back to the front and sighs. “Let’s git this over with.”

Quill leans forward and throws his arms around Yondu’s neck. “Thanks, Yondu!”

“Get off!”

* * *

Dressed down and out of their Ravager gear, Yondu, Kraglin and Peter make their way through the park. Apparently, it’s the off-season, and since they came so early, the best rides don’t have much of a wait.

The first one is half ride, half game – an enormous anti-gravity chamber whose insides are a bunch of soft, squishy bouncy half-moons for the players to bounce off of. Players are split into teams, and each player wears a vest with targets on the shoulders and chest. The object is to shoot fake laser guns at the targets of the opposing team, all the while bouncing and spinning off the ground, ceiling and sides.

The three of them easily beat the opposing team of ten players – twice. Even Yondu admits it was pretty fun, even if there was nothing to steal at the end of it.

The next ride is a high-speed coaster – the highest in the park that boasts a huge corkscrew drop, five loops in a row, and an underground tunnel that spans nearly the whole park. Quill is a couple inches too short to ride it, but one murderous glare from Yondu and the ride attendant lets him pass.

Quill screams and laughs the entire ride, and wants to go again as soon as they get off. Besides being an ace pilot, Kraglin is extremely pale when he stumbles off the ride; he nearly vomits, and has to sit out the next two rides. When he’s feeling better, they grab some overpriced but delicious junk food and amble through the games section.

Peter stops at one booth that strung with all manner of prizes. He gazes at them, then suddenly points at one in particular. “That looks like a baseball!” he cries. He indicates a white ball with red stitching on its surface. He squints. “It _is_ a baseball!”

“Right you are!” the sleazy-looking game attendant says, leaning over the counter of his booth. Yondu frowns at his condescending, gap-toothed smile. “A rare artifact from the far-off planet of Terra. Want to try your luck to win it, son?”

For some reason, this attendant calling Quill _son_ irks Yondu, and his shoulders tense subconsciously.

“Yeah! What do I have to do?”

“Oh, you just have to hit these little old targets here as they move around the track. Knock five down and the ball is yours.”

Peter turns back to look at Kraglin and Yondu and scoffs. “Pff. I beat games just like this when Gramps took me to the state fair! Easy!” He confidently marches up to the booth and slaps a unit down. “I’ll play!”

The man smirks and hands over a toy gun, then pulls down a lever to start up the game.

Yondu can tell there’s something wrong with the mechanics as soon as they start to move. They’re jumpy, and the targets are far heavy to be knocked down by the little plastic pellets Peter is shooting with his gun. To his credit, though, and Yondu is proud – Peter hits every mark he sets his eyes on. The targets just won’t yield.

“Hey, what’s wrong with this thing?” he cries, frowning down at the gun and then back up at the targets. “I’m hitting them but they’re not going down!”

“Guess you’re just not good enough, kid.”

_Just not good enough._

_Not good enough._

All sound seems to dissipate, and Yondu’s eyes go out of focus as the words ring in his ears. _You’re not good enough._ _You’re just a battle slave, you’ll never be good enough to be anything else._

“But I hit them! You saw it!”

Peter’s yell brings him back to reality.

The boy’s face is flushed red and angry, and he’s pointing at the game attendant. “You _saw!”_

“I didn’t see a thing, kid,” the attendant shrugs and looks at his nails.

 _Just not good enough._ The words rebound in Yondu’s head again, and he clenches his fists. _Nobody tells_ my _boy he ain’t good enough._ “How ‘bout I try?” he snarls, loudly enough to make Kraglin jump.

The attendant’s eyes flick up the Captain, a flicker of nervousness goes through his features as his eyes fall on the jagged teeth, red eyes and scarred face. “S-sure. Step right up, sir.”

Yondu slaps a unit down, and the attendant offers the toy gun to him. “Naw, I brought my own.”

“Wh-what?”

A short whistle, and his arrow flies out of a concealed slit in his boot. It slashes though ten of the targets in a matter of seconds, then buzzes against the attendant’s stomach. “Did ya see _that_ , boy?”

The attendant stares and nods. “Y-yeah.” Nervously, he reaches up and retrieves the baseball from the shelf. “H-h-here ya go.”

Yondu whistles the arrow back into its hiding place and gives the man a mean grin. “Thanks.” He walks away without a backward glance, and Peter giddily races by his side.

“That was awesome, Yondu! Did you see his face?!”

Yondu chuckles. “I saw, son.” They turn into a quieter area of the park, filled with fountains, flora, café tables, and some benches for resting at. Around the perimeter are food stalls. He nods at a nearby one selling cloud-candy. “Ya want one of them?”

“Yeah!”

He slips Quill a couple units. “Tell Kraglin to get himself somethin’ too.”

“Thanks, Yondu!”

He sits on a bench while Kraglin and Quill get themselves some snacks, tossing the ball up and down in one hand. He shakes his head as Quill gets the fluffy candy all over his face – his tongue and lips are almost dyed blue with the sugar. Kraglin laughs and helps him wipe it off his nose and cheeks, and they head back to where Yondu sits.

“Here, this is yers,” Yondu says, and tosses the ball to Quill.

As the boy catches it, he stares down at it with a strange look of confused happiness on his face. Then his eyes light up, and his mouth stretches into the happiest smile that Yondu has ever seen on his face in the four years since picking him up. It’s like he’s swallowed a star; he’s beaming, and his eyes are sparkling. Without a word, Quill tosses the ball back, and Yondu catches it, wondering at the significance and why Quill is so happy all of a sudden. Glad to make the boy smile if only for a little while, Yondu throws it back, and they play this strange little game until they’re ready for more rides.

They stay until the park closes, and by the time they get back to the _Eclector,_ Yondu’s feet and back are killing him, Kraglin is yawning up a storm, and Quill is fast asleep in the back seat.

Kraglin rubs an eye and says something about going to check on things in the Control Room before retiring for the night. Left with a sleeping Quill, Yondu shrugs and sticks the baseball in his pocket. He picks up the small bag of goodies and prizes that he boy had won, and sticks Quill’s camera in it. A few photographs are strewn on the seat next to him; Yondu chuckles as he sifts through them. There’s one of Kraglin and Quill after the coaster ride, Kraglin as pale as a Kalskan bull wyrm; one of him and Quill, eating – and one of Quill trying to take a photo of himself in front of a gift shop.

His eyes linger on the final photograph; Quill had stopped a passerby and asked them to take their picture with the outdated device. The stranger had obliged, and the result was Yondu with his arms around Kraglin’s and Quill’s shoulders. They’re all smiling, having just won the anti-gravity game. He stares at it fondly. _Me and my boys,_ the fleeting thought passes through his brain. He clears his throat softly to clear the notion, and places it in the bag with the others, then he gathers Quill in his arms and takes him back to the First Mate’s quarters.

The _Eclector’s_ halls are empty and quiet as he carries the boy to bed. Peter’s head rests against Yondu’s chest, his arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Yondu pauses to heft him more securely in his embrace, and Quill lets out a happy little sigh and snuggles his cheek against Yondu’s neckerchief.

A warm, pleasant feeling gathers in Yondu’s chest and makes him smile. _Yer a good boy, Quill,_ he thinks, patting his back softly. _Glad ya got to have some fun and jus’ be a kid fer a day. I know a Ravager ship ain’t the place or the life fer a lil’ un like you. Gods know I ain’t easy on ya either. But ya do good._

He overrides the door lock, just as he had this morning, but doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. Placing the bag on the floor, he lays Quill down on his cot, and gently pulls off his boots. He shakes out the blanket and lays it over him, tucking it around his chin, and places the baseball next to Quill’s pillow.

Just as he’s withdrawing, Quill’s hand brushes up against his. “Thanks, Dad,” he murmurs.

Yondu freezes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe; he just stares.

Peter doesn’t stir.

Yondu lets a breath out, realizing that the boy must have been talking in his sleep. _Thanks Dad._ Yondu’s throat tightens, and the smile that crosses his lips trembles with the sudden, unexpected prick of tears. He reaches out a hand to lightly brush Quill’s hair from his forehead. “Yer welcome, son,” he whispers in a tone barely above a breath, and withdraws from the room.


End file.
